The Flavor of Desire
by wsprsndadrk
Summary: It had never occurred to him to touch someone in tenderness.


It had never occurred to him to touch someone in tenderness.

It wasn't because he was a creature of violence and didn't understand the purpose behind soft sentiment. He didn't begrudge others for forming bonds, or feel them predominantly weak for doing so; in fact, in his experience, none fought with more ferocity than one sheltering a loved one from inevitable harm, and he knew from witnessing it firsthand that desperation often incited impossible feats of strength and will. Often, those were the ones who were hardest to kill simply because they refused to collapse long after their bodies had been broken.

It wasn't because he couldn't see value in finding distraction or release in another. He understood primal urges well, and though he was not a slave to them, he never particularly bothered to resist, either. Sex was like food and sleep. You either satisfied the biological imperative it or you didn't, but doing so was limited only by what was available at worst, and appetizing at best.

But this was something different; a new and alien concept that he hadn't bothered to notice before because it was of no importance, and therefore, of no interest. It was not so foreign, though, that he couldn't recognize it upon his first time witnessing such an act.

The disfigured male – one whom he vaguely recalled had perished his first day on Earth – had been watching the woman as she focused on her work. Sitting cross legged on a chair, papers strewn haphazardly around her in piles, she bent over her calculations and mumbled to herself using language he couldn't understand, despite being able to hear her clearly if he cocked his head in such a way. Her hair spilled over one shoulder exposing her neck. The scarred one approached her from behind and paused, as if uncertain whether or not he should commit to such a forbidden act. Apparently, he deemed it worth whatever consequences he would face because he suddenly bent down and kissed the exposed flesh on the back of her neck, just below her hairline.

She sucked in a breath and shuddered. Vegeta could see, even from this distance, that her flesh pebbled, and she quickly rubbed her arms. Being a furless mammal himself, he knew well that epidermis did this for few reasons, and ascertained that in this case, hers was a pleasure response. Moments later and to his surprise - though he admitted to himself that it should be of no surprise - the evidence of that response became evident when the taste of her pheromones reached him.

Without notice, he opened his lips and inhaled, drawing in the scent to ascertain the strength of her arousal. Again, he was surprised. If a simple act could elicit such a response, how easy it would be to extract its equal and opposite response in the form of pain. It was no wonder, then, that she was no fighter.

Despite her immediate and heated reprimand, and after being appeased by a paltry show of chagrin by the male, she once again settled down and continued her work. Vegeta knew well why 'Scar' had decided to go through with the act if such an inadequate chastisement was the only consequence. After promises to return at a later time, the lesser male had made an exit.

And it was though the entire event had never occurred.

Except…

It was a mild desire - but as a fighter, curiosity was an asset. You didn't learn how to best your enemy if you never observed, adapted, and evolved. Though it still didn't occur to him that this could be information of use to him, it didn't occur to him that it would not be useful, either.

Without much thought, indeed far less than the consideration made by the human male minutes before, Vegeta strode forward as silently as shadow overtaking daylight.

Gingerly, like the soft breath of butterfly wings, the saiyan's lips loomed above her as he breathed her in. Her body heat tasted heady and fragrant - rather like a flower begging a humming bird to kiss its petals.

She must have felt the heat of his breath because she stiffened and her head snapped up. Her speed was no match for his own, though, and even as she yelled for Yamcha to desist, her words became strangled before dying abruptly.

Her scent changed violently – adrenaline, fear, and shock, and he knew that she knew.

And yet she remained frozen. Didn't turn to look at him with accusing, reprimanding eyes. Didn't yell at him to stop.

He could hear her heart beat gallop so fast it must be painful for her, and her breathing was labored.

He waited.

He waited to see if she had the courage to stop him. He waited to see if she had the nerve to let him continue.

She did… nothing.

One second more. Two.

He bent closer and flicked his tongue out to sample the molecules above her flesh, and breathed the heat of his lungs onto her skin, grinning as it pebbled once again.

The moment his lips found the spot on the center of the back of her neck, her scent once again exploded. It was not fear, this time.

His purpose met, he left her there – dissolved into darkness as though he had never been more than a phantom made from the fibers of her exhaustion and suspicion. He didn't bother to learn how she responded to his departure, or watch her question whether or not he had actually ever been. It didn't matter.

He licked his lips, thrilled with the intoxicating flavor of her desire thick on his tongue.

It never occurred to him to touch someone in tenderness before. Though he didn't quite yet know how he would use this knowledge to his advantage, he knew it was only a matter of time.


End file.
